


The Corner

by MuggleMaybe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood, Community: HPFT, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:51:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleMaybe/pseuds/MuggleMaybe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his corner Harry was happy and safe, and no one yelled at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Corner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [looneylizzie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/looneylizzie/gifts).



That morning at number four Privet Drive was the same as any other.  A chubby little boy, around four years old, sat on the sofa eating a bowl of rainbow colored cereal, his eyes glazed over as he watched a cartoon show on television. His name was Dudley. His mother, Petunia, sat nearby, painting her fingernails a pale pink and glancing affectionately at her son from time to time. Both were oblivious to the other child in the room, who appeared, at the moment, as only a mess of black hair and a pair of brilliant green eyes peeking out from behind the window curtains.

Without warning, Dudley dropped his spoon back into his cereal bowl, causing milk to splash onto his chin. “Mummy! Mummy, look!” He pointed at the screen with a stubby finger.

“Yes, sweetums, that’s nice,” his mother said, not looking up from her nails or showing the slightest interest in the program. 

The other boy, however, was very interested indeed. His name was Harry, and he had moved out from behind the curtain and now crouched just out of sight, staring in fascination at the image on the screen: A parade of knights, and with them an old man with a long white beard who waved a stick and produced a sparkling purple light. Harry’s fingers rose automatically to a scar on his forehead, and he exchanged a delighted look with Dudley. They took up the game immediately, Dudley wielding an imaginary sword and Harry casting spell after spell from an invisible magic wand.

They had nearly conquered their enemy when the woman let out a tremendous screech. “What is God’s name are you doing?”

The boys paid little attention to her outburst, which was not part of their playtime world. 

“STOP IT THIS INSTANT!” She shouted, and this time her words had the desired effect. She pointed a painted finger at Harry. “You! You are not to pretend at magic. Not ever! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

“No magic?” The little boy echoed, looking defeated.

“No. Magic.” She replied firmly.

He frowned. “But, I like magic. It’s fun.”

The woman’s face paled dangerously. “QUIET! Be quiet! Don't you know..." She sighed. "Nevermind. Just go to your corner.”

He frowned again, his brain struggling to understand her anger. The man with the wand, and the spells, and the magic – it all felt right somehow. He didn’t want to stop playing when it felt so right. His fingers rose up to his scar again, and the action seemed to frighten the woman. “NOW!” She yelled. He obeyed.

His corner was at the back of the room, far away from the telly and any toys Dudley might have out. It held only a small wooden chair with a blue cushion, and this was where Harry was supposed to spend the day, especially when his Uncle Vernon was at home. Aunt Petunia didn’t like him much, but Uncle Vernon liked him even less. He said freaks like Harry shouldn’t be getting underfoot, and thank God his Diddums was a good, normal boy and not a freak like him. 

Harry didn’t know what made Uncle Vernon hate him, he only knew that he hated his uncle right back. That was why he didn’t complain when Aunt Petunia banished him to his corner. At least, here in his own little corner, in his own little chair, he could be whatever he wanted to be.* He liked to imagine his parents were still alive, and they lived in a castle, and his parents called him their little prince and took him along on amazing adventures. Sometimes, he imagined he was a dragon and if anyone was mean to him, he could spit fire and fly away to some nicer place. There were days when he sat in his chair and became a mouse, who could hide away from anyone and never be found, and maybe even sneak away and find someone nice to take care of him and feed him. He could be a genius, who invented amazing things, or a great warrior who defeated terrible villains and earned the admiration of everyone who knew him. He could be a guest at an enormous feast, where there would be candy, and ice lollies, and roast potatoes and all the things he liked best to eat, and he could have as much as he wanted and never wake up hungry at night again. He could gain superpowers so that he could soar away, and then he would fly in happy circles above the clouds and never come down. In his corner Harry was happy and safe, and no one yelled at him.

It was also true, however, that sometimes his imagination got carried away. There were times the prince’s parents died during one of their adventures. Sometimes the dragon set fire to the house, or the mouse got caught in a trap. Other times, one of the genius’ inventions went terribly wrong, or the warrior died in battle. The feast occasionally gave him a terrible stomachache. Sometimes, while flying, he fell from a great height. When these things happened, Harry’s eyes would pop open and he was back in his corner, safe. Then, for once, he was glad to be where he was, even if he knew that safe did not always mean happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling.
> 
> *This line is taken nearly verbatim from the lyrics of the song "In My Own Little Corner" from the musical Cinderella, which was written by Rodgers and Hammerstein and produced by Richard Lewine.The same song was my inspiration for this story.


End file.
